


we hold each other

by katestagram (katelusive)



Series: we can't escape this; it's in our bones [2]
Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: M/M, a lil angsty, a lil dirty, a lot of denial, friendly handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 20:23:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5798689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katelusive/pseuds/katestagram
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mac won't admit he's hung up on Dennis.  Charlie just wants to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we hold each other

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so happy you guys liked my exxxtreme macdennis filth :) This is the angsty part 2 aftermath.

The nice thing about Charlie is that he doesn’t have to talk and interrupt all the time, like Dennis does. He just sits there with his head cocked to the side and listens, nodding in all the right places, occasionally huffing a little airplane glue out of a brown paper bag. Plus his apartment actually smells nice for once, which is confusing. 

“I hear you, man, I hear you,” he says, offering the bag to Mac. Mac almost doesn’t take it, and then he thinks, fuck it, and takes a nice huff. It’s not like he has anything better to do. And he certainly wouldn’t miss a few choice brain cells right now.

“He’s like a – tornado, or something. Or one of those stupid tropical storms. He just comes in, fucks everything up, and takes off on another dumbass date.”

“Tropical storms go on dates? Is that why they have names?”

“What? No. Charlie, that’s moronic, even for you.”

“I dunno, it could happen.”

“No, it couldn’t. But you know what I mean, dude. He thinks he can just do whatever he wants and everyone else has to deal with it.”

“That sucks, bro.”

“Yeah, it sucks a fucking bag of dicks,” grumbles Mac. Stupid Dennis and his beautiful asshole face and his perfect hair and his long, amazing fingers. “Not to mention, he still wouldn’t even let me move the furniture. He said he’d kick me out if I tried.”

“Why did you want to move it? I forget.”

“Because of, like,” Mac forgets too, but he isn’t about to tell Charlie that. “Interior decorating stuff. Feng shui. You wouldn’t understand. The point is, Dennis is ruining my life. I think I hate him or something.”

“Oh really? You hate Dennis?” Charlie’s giving him that look that he does sometimes, when he gets really stoned and thinks he’s the guru of the universe or whatever. 

“Yeah, I hate him,” says Mac. “What’s the big deal? He’s still my best friend, and I still – um – you know, I still wanna live with him and everything. I guess. He’s just a douchebag sometimes.” 

“This is gonna sound crazy,” Charlie starts, and Mac holds up a hand to stop him because if Charlie thinks it’s crazy, he’s not sure he even wants to hear where it’s going. Charlie barrels on anyway. “No, no, just listen. I have an idea.”

“About getting rid of Dennis?”

“No, dude. About how to fix stuff with him.”

“I’m not gonna play competitive Nightcrawlers with him and the loser has to apologize, or whatever fucked up thing you and Frank do when you get into a fight.”

“No, of course not, that would be silly. You don’t even know the rules.”

“Okay, well, let’s just drop it,” says Mac, sorry he brought it up in the first place. Really, the last thing he wants to do is talk about Dennis. He wanted to complain, sure, but actually delving into the underlying emotional issues – with Charlie, of all people – is extremely high on his personal no-fly list. 

“No, wait, just listen to my idea,” says Charlie, staring up at Mac with big, dazed eyes. 

“I don’t think—“

“Why don’t you just tell him how you feel?” 

“Excuse me?” Mac splutters, caught off-guard. Whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t that. Not to mention, this is exactly the kind of thing he wanted to avoid, dammit! “I don’t know what you mean. Let’s not talk about this.”

“You do so,” says Charlie, taking the bag back. “Come on, man, do I really have to spell it out?”

Mac doesn’t answer. He’s never told Charlie how he feels about Dennis. As far as Charlie is concerned, Mac and Dennis have never even kissed apart from that one time that Dee forced them during Truth or Dare in college. What the fuck is he talking about?

“You’re high,” he says finally.

“Like an airplane,” Charlie agrees. He’s sprawled back against the ratty couch cushions with a blissed-out look on his face, and his fingers close to Mac’s hand. “And you’re my friend, and I just want to help you out. Because friends do that stuff.” 

Impulsively, Mac reaches out and grabs his fingers. Charlie squeezes his hand. It’s just like old times, thinks Mac, except now they’re in their mid-thirties with a shitload of debt instead of teenagers with stolen booze and shitty grades. Mac feels high as a kite. He doesn’t want to talk about Dennis anymore. He needs to distract Charlie somehow. 

“Speaking of friend stuff, remember that time in ninth grade when you helped me sneak out of detention so we could smoke up under the bleachers?”

“Aw yeah, of course, dude,” says Charlie. He has a distracted, faraway look in his eyes. “That was the year, man. That was our year.”

He sounds a little nostalgic, a little sad. He doesn’t mention the fact that it was the last year Mac and Charlie spent as true best friends. Before Dennis came along and changed everything. But they both know what he means. It was the wrong kind of subject change. Mac clears his throat and tries again.

“Dude, did you get air freshener or something? Because it smells like gingerbread in here.”

“Oh, it’s just my hair,” says Charlie. He’s let go of Macs hand, but now he’s leaning against Mac’s shoulder, tickling his mouth and nose with unusually soft strands of brown. “Frank found us a holiday gift basket with all these different soaps. My favorite’s the eggnog.” A pause. “Tastes great, too.”

“Tell me you’re kidding,” says Mac, although he probably isn’t. 

“Why would I joke about something like that? It really does. Do you wanna try some?”

“No thanks, dude. You really shouldn’t eat soap.” 

“Yeah, maybe not,” Charlie agrees. “Frank says it’s okay, though.” 

Mac’s going to tell him that just because Frank says something is okay doesn’t actually make it okay, like in the real world, but Charlie’s squirming closer to Mac, nuzzling his head against Mac’s neck, and the rush of gingerbread hits him again. Mac’s throat constricts a little, and he doesn’t move a muscle.

Charlie stays like that for one breath, two breaths, three, half in Mac’s lap and half out of it. They’re breathing evenly, perfectly in time, just like they always have. Just like they used to, under the bleachers, cutting class and huddling together for warmth in the November chill. 

And that’s what Mac likes about Charlie – he doesn’t make it a big deal when they kiss. It doesn’t have to be some big production, some bullshit power play show of dominance. It’s just kissing. Charlie tastes like tobacco and sugar cookies. He crawls all the way into Mac’s lap and his hands come up to cup the sides of Mac’s face, his ears, stroking his hair like a cat. 

“Mm,” says Mac. His hands crawl up under Charlie’s t-shirt, dangerously hot but not unfamiliar territory. Charlie is a known entity; Charlie is a security blanket. Charlie nuzzles against his throat, rocking gently into him. He slides his hands into the back pockets of Charlie’s tattered jeans, pulling him closer. 

“Mac,” Charlie mumbles against his lips. 

“Yeah,” Mac breathes, feeling Charlie get hard against him. 

He likes having this kind of power over someone. It’s the same kind of power Dennis has over him, which he hates, but somehow it’s different with Charlie. It’s nice. It’s soft touches and gentle eyes instead of a hand around his throat and Dennis’s hissed voice in his ear telling him what to do and when to do it. Sometimes Mac isn’t sure that Dennis even sees him as a person instead of a living extension of his own exhaustive masturbatory repertoire. 

Charlie is a conundrum. He always has been. Since they were teenagers, it’s been this way – Charlie gets hard but doesn’t want anything back. It’s the same every time. He jerks Mac off with gentle, clumsy fingers and open-mouth kisses, and then, after Mac’s caught his breath, he folds up under his jaw and pulls Mac’s arm around him and closes his eyes. They stay like that for five minutes, or maybe fifteen, or even an hour. Once they fell asleep like that, and Charlie’s mom definitely saw but as far as Mac knows she never said a word.

This time starts out no different. Charlie kisses his jaw and reaches to open his fly, and Mac’s breath catches in his throat. He’s delicately, achingly hard despite coming for Dennis just hours ago. Sex with Charlie is a different kind of sex. In another world, another life, he might think it was better. 

Sometimes Mac wishes he weren’t so fucked up. He wishes that he didn’t crave Dennis’s twisted, all-consuming passion above all else. But he always has, and he knows himself well enough by now to say that he probably always will. 

Charlie is the opposite. Charlie is a giver. Dennis wants to own Mac, body and soul, but Charlie just wants to make Mac feel good. And it’s been a few years, but this time is no different. This time, he’s crawling down off the couch between Mac’s legs, unzipping his fly and looking up at Mac through his eyelashes. 

“Should I…” he asks, trailing off. 

“Please,” Mac breathes, throat constricting, and Charlie’s lips close around the head of his cock. He gives inexpert but enthusiastic head, and Mac’s fingers clench in the cushions. It’s strange to look down and see Charlie, soft dark eyelashes fanned over his cheeks, instead of Dennis with his eyes trained unflinching on Mac’s face, gauging his every tiny reaction. In full control even while he has Mac’s dick down his throat.

“Oh, dude that’s so good,” he moans, unable to help himself. Charlie pulls off his dick with a wet little pop, looking up at him with the sweetest eyes. 

He looks like he might say something, except Mac drags him up and kisses him on the lips, on his stubble-scratchy face. Like they’re in love. Which they’re not. Mac’s never been in love, unless you count how he feels about Dennis. He thinks that might be the closest that God will let him come to actually being in love with someone. 

“I was wondering if you’d want to, um, if you would maybe,” mumbles Charlie, then stops, blushing. 

“What is it?” Mac asks. They’re almost mouth-to-mouth, talking against each other’s lips, breathing each other’s air. Sometimes Charlie just feels so small.

“Please,” says Charlie, guiding Mac’s hand to the bulge in the front of his jeans. 

“Oh,” says Mac, surprised, squeezing a little. “Okay. Sure.”

Charlie whimpers, and Mac feels a swell of lust and pride. I’m gonna make you come harder than you’ve ever come in your life, he thinks. It’s not gay when he’s with Charlie, by the way, because Charlie’s just … Charlie. It’s too confusing to parse out in his head, but God understands, he thinks. 

The thing with Dennis is a different story. He’s almost certain God doesn’t understand that, and it’s probably why his life is so fucked up. But he doesn’t have to think about that right now.

He undoes Charlie’s belt one-handed and touches him tentatively. Charlie melts under his hand, a shiver running through his entire body. He whispers something unintelligible, burying his face in Mac’s neck. 

“It’s okay, dude,” says Mac. “Don’t be embarrassed.” 

He knows Charlie well enough to know that he’s not embarrassed, exactly, but it’s something close to that. Mac’s too turned on to understand, though. He shifts until he can stroke both of their cocks with one hand. Charlie moans aloud at the feeling of Mac’s hand against his skin. 

He owes this to Charlie. Charlie was the one who first helped him to understand that sex between buddies could be just that. It didn’t have to be “gay” or “sinful” or whatever. It could just be two really good pals helping each other out. Charlie has never asked him for reciprocation before. He wants to make this good. 

He doesn’t want to think about Dennis, though. So when visions of Dennis’s spindly spider-fingers on his dick swim into his mind, getting him even harder, he thrusts them out immediately. 

Dennis always has to be in control. But Dennis isn’t here right now. It’s just Mac and Charlie, and they’re not like that. They can do this as equals. They can do this as if they actually like each other, rather than some kind of weird fight for dominance turned sexual. 

There was only one time it wasn’t like that with Dennis. Usually Mac doesn’t let himself think about it. Dennis was drunk and high and the power was off and he let Mac fuck him on the living room floor, in the moonlight from the open window. He looked up at Mac like he was something special. Something rare and beautiful to be treasured. He cupped Mac’s face in his big hands and said “Come on, baby boy,” and Mac came too fast with “Iloveyou,” on his lips because he couldn’t help it. 

It was the wrong thing to say. It broke the spell. Dennis was silent for a long time and then he said, “Don’t be so gay, dude,” without looking at him. 

It wasn’t the first time that Mac told Dennis he loved him without Dennis saying it back. But, if Mac’s careful, it could be the last. 

Charlie’s breath huffs out hot against his neck. He’s chanting something, maybe Mac’s name, and Mac knows he’s gonna come. It doesn’t even take a full minute before he’s gasping and spilling over Mac’s hand, sweaty and so comically surprised that Mac laughs before he can help himself. Charlie clearly isn’t sure whether to be embarrassed or offended, and then he starts laughing too. 

“Thanks,” he says. “Let me do you.” 

“Okay,” says Mac, and stretches back. Charlie’s fingers are calloused and familiar. Mac thinks back to the bleachers, to his old bed that Charlie used to crawl into late at night sometimes, when he was sleeping over. He was small back then too. He’s always been small. 

Intense blue eyes flash in his mind but Mac pushes them away, pushes all of Dennis far away into that locked box in the back of his mind. Charlie’s here, just like he always has been, solid and warm and smelling like a Christmas cookie, jerking Mac’s cock just like he did when they were sixteen and skipped Spring Fling to get drunk behind the gas station dumpster. 

Mac comes silently with a different image behind his eyes, the two of them curled up together on Mac’s childhood bed, whispering dumb kid secrets with their legs intertwined. 

It’s almost the same position that Charlie maneuvers them into now, although they’re both about a hundred pounds heavier. Physically and emotionally. Mac wraps an arm around Charlie, who twists around so that his face is against Mac’s throat.

And that’s what Mac likes about Charlie. He’ll cuddle afterwards, instead of running away with his tail between his legs so he doesn’t have to think about it. Or, as Mac staunchly refuses to let himself think, because he just doesn’t give a shit. Charlie cares. That, at least, Mac knows for certain.

Charlie says something unintelligible.

“What’s that?” Mac’s sleepy, on the verge of passing out. It’s comfortable and intoxicating, the glue and the sex and the gingerbread-heavy warmth of Charlie pressed against him. 

“I said, just tell him that you love him.”

“You don’t understand,” Mac mumbles. He doesn’t know how Charlie knows about the thing with Dennis. Maybe he’s just guessing. Later, hopefully, when they’re pretending this never happened, all weird pseudo-conversations about his feelings for Dennis will be included in that umbrella of silence.

“Seriously, Mac. Tell him how you feel. Maybe he feels the same way.”

“No he doesn’t,” says Mac, eyes closed, on the precipice of sleep. Without meaning to, he says the thing he’s always stopped himself from even thinking, so scared that might make it true. “I don’t even think he can. But I can’t help it. I’m just fucked.”

Charlie’s silent for so long that Mac thinks he must’ve fallen asleep. Just as he’s starting to drift off too, Charlie says, “Well, I love you, anyway,” very very quietly, voice thick and sleepy. 

Mac nestles into his hair and pretends he didn’t hear.


End file.
